


Forget Me (Not)

by TheRoseDuelist



Series: The Apprentice Reversed [7]
Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Apprentice Is Pushy With Muriel, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt, Gender-Neutral Apprentice (The Arcana), Impulsive Apprentice, Selfish Apprentice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:42:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24103069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRoseDuelist/pseuds/TheRoseDuelist
Summary: You refuse to give up your dream.
Relationships: Apprentice/Muriel (The Arcana), Muriel (The Arcana)/Reader
Series: The Apprentice Reversed [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1567798
Comments: 5
Kudos: 43





	Forget Me (Not)

It is your first fight. Certainly, you’ve had arguments before, heated debates, impassioned quarrels. But never full-on screaming matches. You can’t believe that it’s gotten to this point. 

How did you get here?

Right. It began on your anniversary one week ago. 

You slaved away all day making his favorite foods. You cleaned the shop, closed up early, set up candles and other decorations to add to the romantic ambiance. You were determined that nothing should interrupt you this evening. You wanted it to be perfect.

You wore the new outfit you bought specifically to mark the occasion with. One made of his favorite colors. One that also accentuated your figure. Why play coy?

He’d arrived, stuttered, and managed to say how lovely you looked. You returned the compliment and lay a kiss on his cheek, enjoying the blush that settled on his skin. After taking his coat you ushered him to the back so you could eat. You were starving. 

Halfway through the meal is when it happened. An argument. After all that preparation, all that planning, all that execution, you wanted to talk about the future of your relationship. Specifically, what your future family will look like. Why not? It was your anniversary. You had planned for a future together. It seemed the most obvious time for the conversation.

“I don’t want children,” he growled, his bushy eyebrows knitting together in frustration.

“Why not?” You answered, doing your best to be non-confrontational. You knew that if you were, he would simply shut down.

“I don’t need one.”

“No, I won’t accept that.” You shook your head. “I deserve more from you.”

“Why would I want to bring a child into this world?” He snapped, his eyes blazing.

“You mean the world where you have a loving partner supportive friends and a comfortable place to live?”

“Into a world of hatred and anger and evil.”

It hurt you that he still viewed the world as an awful place. You understood it, but you thought that after everything the two of you had been through together, that his mind may have changed. That he might now think better of life, especially since the two of you were happy.

“We killed the Devil.” You pointed out. You desperately tried to understand where this vehemence is coming from.

“There are still evil people out there.”

“That’s not a reason to not want to have a family.” You took a breath and decided to try a different tactic because arguing was getting you nowhere. “Are you afraid of something?”

He looked away from you. There it was. You hit the mark. 

You waited for him to respond. You knew better than to rush him. Even if the waiting almost killed you, the silence dragging on for much longer than you wished it.

His face clouded over and he clenched his jaw. Abruptly, he stood, jostling the table. “I’m tired. I’m going home.” And before you could say anything, he stomped out of the shop and slammed the door behind him.

The echo of the door slamming rang in your ears and you turned your attention back to the half-eaten meal in front of you. A little piece of your heart broke. You always wanted a child. It was something in your blood, to care for a child, nurture until it was grown. Now it seemed that dream might not be possible.

What was worse is that he left you on your anniversary. As if he didn’t care for you. You could’ve reached an agreement to put aside the topic of conversation for another day and then resumed your evening, celebrating your relationship. But no. He had a one-track mind. 

It was something that irritated you. He was so very stubborn, couldn’t let go of things. Had to keep ruminating on them. You were certain that he was sitting in his hut, still stewing.

Brushing away the stray tear that wound down your cheek, you began clearing the table and preparing yourself for an early night in.

You won’t give up on this. You were going to get an answer out of him one way or another.

A week later, you planned to bring it up to him again. 

It’s not that you enjoyed these underhanded tactics. However, approaching him with the subject outright was not an option. You tried that and he immediately shut you down. So...it would have to be another date night setup.

You invited him on a weekend getaway to Nopal. Just like your adventure, you rode out of Vesuvia on horses, heading for the desert getaway. Only this time, the fate of the world didn’t hang in your hands. Rather, you could simply enjoy each other’s company.

You arrived at the cabin in the late afternoon. As you unpacked your things, you saw him looking over at the single bed in the bedroom. You met his eyes and he blushed, sending a pleasing warmth straight to your core. You hadn’t been physically intimate since right before your anniversary, and you hoped to remedy that this weekend. It seemed that maybe he did as well.

Your heart was giddy at the thought.

Later, you dressed for dinner and unpacked the food you’ve brought. The cabin was fairly remote — twenty miles outside of Nopal — though if you wished, you could ride out to the coast and fish in the morning to have food for lunch and dinner. But you knew Muriel was partial to your cooking, which meant you cooked up your famous bean and rice dish.

As you sat together, watching the sun descend over the water, you noticed Muriel looking at you.“This is nice.” His gravelly voice sent a delicious shiver down your spine.

“I thought we could use the getaway.” You responded, reaching over to squeeze his hand.

He blushed but didn’t take his hand away. You thought to yourself that the moment is perfect. Everything was going well. The two of you were indescribably happy.

Everything was fine.

The weekend was perfectly lovely. You found your way back to each other. And so, you decided it was best not to mention the subject of a family. Honestly, you didn’t want to possibly ruin the weekend. 

Even if it felt cowardly. 

But it didn’t entirely sit well with you. You pushed it to the back of your mind and focused on how it felt to be enveloped by his arms and snuggled against his warm body. The closeness is something you missed. You craved. The need takes over you. And you let go of everything else.

It is only after you return to Vesuvia, to his hut that you finally mention it.

“I was hoping that we could talk about the family again.” You say, scratching Inanna behind the ears.

He grunts. “What family?”

“Our family. Our future one, that is.” You continue to stroke Inanna’s fur.

“We already talked about this. I don’t want a family.”

“But you haven’t said why. What are you afraid of?” You pursue.

“I have to tend to the chickens.” And he leaves without another glance at you. You frown, the familiar pain of rejection crunching your heart. 

No. You are not going to take that as an answer this time. You have been patient. And you have given him space. You deserve an answer now.

You stomp out of the hut and beelined for Muriel, who hunkers over the chicken coop, tossing feed and watching the birds scurry. 

“I want to have a conversation about this. I deserve one. I am your partner and before we make this decision, I want to understand why exactly we aren’t going to have a family.”

He whirls around, a snarl on his lips. “I don’t want to be a parent. How many times do I have to say it?”

“That’s not a reason!”

“I don’t want them to end up like me!”

“With a loving partner? A comfortable roof over your head? A family of close friends?!” Your frustration boils over. You could’ve kept a cool head but you are tired of coddling him. Tired of reminding him that life isn’t a horrible ordeal anymore. It has been months after the trial with Lucio, and still, Muriel occasionally slips back into an isolationist mindset. 

You don’t have the patience for his self-pity.

“I am broken!”

“No, you’re not! We’re happy! That’s not a reason!”

“It’s a good enough one for me!”

“Not for me!”

“You couldn’t possibly understand. You have never been a slave!”

“I have lost everything too—”

“Not like me! They used me. They forced me to kill. You will never know what that feels like, to lose yourself! To be forced to give up control and obey to save yourself. What if this child becomes that way? Wants to do the things I was made to do?”

“Muriel—”

“No! If you want a child you won’t have one with me! And that’s final!” He spins on his heel and storms back into the cabin, slamming the door behind him.

Rage burns through you and you roll your hands into fists. How dare he do this to you. After everything you shared. After everything you have been through together. To rip away the one thing you always dreamed of.

He refuses to compromise for you. You have done it for him countless times. And each time you understand because that is what one does in a relationship. You compromise to make him feel comfortable. It is always you ensuring he is comfortable.

You decide in that moment you are done with that. You whirl around and race away, back towards Vesuvia. Back towards your shop. Your mind is reeling from the argument, his words reverberating in your ears, the anger in his voice bruising your soul. You feel sad, but the anger is stronger. It’s consuming every fiber of your being. You want to throw something, break something, punch someone. You want to destroy.

You arrive at the shop and fling open the front door, locking it with a slam. You stand in the entryway, panting. The rage rolls off of you as you listen. It’s quiet. No doubt Asra is spending the night elsewhere, either with Julian or Nadia, you can’t keep up. It’s not like it matters. He would probably side with Muriel anyway. 

How dare he say that you don’t understand. You were erased from existence then brought back under false pretenses. You’ve been lied to for years. You know exactly how it feels to be in the dark, not a master of your own destiny.

You storm into the back room and sweep the table clean, fruit and books crashing to the floor. You don’t stop to pick them up. Instead, you gather ingredients as fast as you can, pulling bottles from the shelves. Liquids, herbs, powders, potions, sludge. Everything for the spell that is forming in your mind.

How can he be so cruel? Doesn’t he know what his words have done to you? Cut you and stabbed you in the most exposed parts of your heart. Surely he does, but he doesn’t care. He just wants to be comfortable. He is putting himself first. He will never truly put you first. Sure, he protected you from Lucio, just as you did him. But this is different. This is not a matter of life or death, but it is a matter of your life together. You have never doubted him before this moment. Before this argument and now, you don’t trust him with your heart.

You are so full of rage that he is taking advantage of you. Of your kindness, and your willingness to go the extra mile for him. To soothe his fears and ignore your own. 

You begin mixing ingredients in a bowl, grounding spices with a mortar and pestle. All you want to do is scream at him. Make him hurt. Make him feel the pain that he inflicted upon you. But you can’t even think to look at him. That snarl, the disgust in his eyes…

Your heart cracks in your chest. Angry tears flow down your cheeks. If this is how he wants it to be, then so be it.

You dump everything into your cauldron and stir the mixture. If he wants to live his life without you, so be it. You’ve had enough of his tantrums.

The purple liquid in the black pot bubbles. You ladle out some into a glass and begin to speak the words of the spell. You inhale its sweetness, your memory picking out the first time you met Muriel. How frightened you were but you knew that he was gentle on the inside. Resigned to live a life of loneliness because of his curse.

But his curse is broken and his life is full.

Your life isn’t full. Your life isn’t important. You think of all your anger towards him. Picture his face in your mind and then you take a deep gulp of the potion.

It slides down your throat, cool and slick. Tasty. But it quickly turns foul and it takes all of your strength to not vomit. You feel the urge to hurl and clamp your hand over your mouth. You force yourself to swallow. You pour yourself another cup. You drink another glass, picturing Muriel again pushing you away, feeling the fury explode through you. You chug it and then pour another glass. 

You focus again but this time, your brain has a hard time focusing on...Muriel. Right. Your wrath. So angry. You drink it and you force another glass in your hand, you’re almost done with the cauldron full of the potion. You concentrate again on your rage, and on the person...who is...a tall large man...it doesn’t matter. 

You drink. 

And then one last glass you pour, focusing on the fury. Your stomach turns. You look at the potion, sludge-like in the glass. You don’t want to drink anymore. But you know that you have to. You don’t entirely remember why, but you know that for the spell, you have to. So you chug one last glass.

You wake up from your sprawl on the floor. You blink, looking around, trying to gather your bearings. Your head pounds, your temples throb. The ache is horrible, like a hangover. 

You see the cauldron and then spy an empty glass on the floor not far from your outstretched hand. Struggling to your knees, you peer inside the black pot. The dregs of a potion. What were you making? You can’t seem to remember, it’s foggy. You lean over and sniff. Sweet...then sour. 

You examine the ingredients strewn over the table. You were in a hurry to do it. Myrrh, rosemary, rabbit’s foot...and it clicks.

A forgetting spell. 

BANG BANG BANG. Your head whips to the front door. Who could be calling at this hour?

You scurry over and open it to see a large man filling up the doorway. He looks sad, resigned.

Your breath hitches in your throat and you narrow your eyes. You don’t want this man here. You don’t know who he is but he’s the last person you ever want to see.

Does he have to do with the forgetting spell?

“I...I want to apologize. I shouldn’t...We can…” He runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t want us to be mad at each other.”

“Whoever you are, I want you to leave this instant.” You snarl, readying your magic in case you need to protect yourself. 

His eyes widen and he steps back, startled. “Y/N? It’s me, Muriel.”

“I don’t care who you are. You are not welcome here.”

“Wait, my curse. But it was gone!”

“I don’t care what your curse is. Don’t come back!” And you slam the door.

Hugging your sides, you dash up the stairs to the loft and fall into your bed. Whenever Asra comes back from his rendevous, you’ll ask him to explain who that man is. But that’s it. You don’t want to know any more than that.

Because you forgot him for a reason. And you plan to keep it that way.


End file.
